A Murder In Morrowind 2

A Most Peculiar Partner

My name is Gannicus Varro and I am forty-four years dying, and not yet dead.

My life, due in no small part to my own mistakes, has effectively ended. I have been rendered inert by the politics I once tried to control and have been sentenced to obscurity.

In short, if you were looking for a hero to this tale, then I suggest that you look elsewhere. My name is Gannicus Varro, and I feel I need another drink.

My addiction to the alcohol which sustains me is the impetus for my writing and I am now sufficiently inebriated enough to write this. I feel too that some exposition is necessary here at the beginning of this tale. Officially, all reports must be written and sent to the Consul’s office for filing and storage. I’m pretty sure though that my reports are tossed once they’ve seen my signature. It is to be expected given my station.

So for the sake of my own sanity, I often times will write my own vivid memories of the situations I find myself in.

So, allow me to begin so that my readers (if there are any) may understand who I am and what I do.

I am Gannicus Varro, and I perform a job that is neither needed nor wanted here in Morrowind. By my failure to play the game of Nibenese politics, as well as machinations from my political enemies and my own misgivings which have empowered them so, I have been stripped of rank and title and sent to the farthest reaches of the Empire in order to occupy a space that is cursory and superfluous in its entirety. Where once I was a member of the legion and of noble birth, reasonable in station and comfortably wealthy, I have now been brought low.

I am now, Inquisitor.

As Inquisitor it is my job to perform special inquiries into matters of unusual circumstances for the Empire. Normally this is an honorable if not well regarded position in the Empire’s forces; most Inquisitors are by nature of the job naturally quiet and withdrawn folk, not prone to award or promotion. Here in Morrowind though, the position is filled merely as a show of force and it is the place of which I have been given so that I may be put away and forgotten. Morrowind has its own laws and customs and thus, as Inquisitor, I have no real power here in matters that directly involve the Dunmer.

The thing which I am guilty of (and I am, mind you.) I will not speak of it. This is a story, not an autobiography, although those from my home of Chorrol will have no doubt heard of me. Suffice to say is that I am a prisoner in a prison of my own creation.

It was much to my surprise then when the news of Cassius Aureilus’s death came across my desk two weeks ago. He was my friend from my home in Chorrol; he and I had shared time in the legion together, although my place in my family line ensured a low standing for me and his a command position for him. Despite this, even as he was my commanding officer at the time, I respected him as a fair and even handed leader and a pious one at that. In the years serving him I grew closer to him as we shared a close proximity in the chain of command. I had considered him to be a dear friend. We had even exchanged letters on occasion, though my exile had put an end to that relationship.

I immediately though that Nirn was poorer for his death. No man worshipped the Divines with such fervor as he or held the Empire’s justice so well.

While his death came as a surprise I was even more astonished when I found out what my role would play in the events to come. His death was more than just the loss of a just and devout man. He had become so much more since I had last seen him, for he was a member of the Emperor’s Blades.

Thusly, it was my job as Inquisitor to investigate the death of any Imperial official; especially a member of the Blades.

For all my time in Morrowind I had never thought I would do more than sit at a desk and stare at a wall or write reports. His death wasn’t far from unusual, the Empire wasn’t favored here and especially not on that backwards island of Vvardenfell.I knew most likely it was a thief or thug who killed him. My presence was hardly necessary, but courtesies and procedures must be followed, and despite my reluctance I was ordered to the city of Balmora on that Oblivion blighted area that was the Bitter Coast.

The rain fell hard and heavy, wet drops splashing across my head with icy coolness that necessitated another swig of brandy just to warm myself. I rubbed the bald spot on the back of my head and drew my hood. Despite my heavy robes I was still soaked to the bone. The Stilt-Strider guide didn’t seem to mind though. He was a quiet fellow who I suspect spoke the common tongue but pretended not to as a gesture of disrespect. He simply nodded, took my money, and spent the entire trip pushing and pulling at the exposed nerves of the giant insect while remaining quiet.

We were nearing Balmora, and as we approached I took the time to admire the Red Mountain that lay to the north. It was an impressive sight; it completely dominated the horizon, stretching far into the heavens until its peak was obscured by the dark clouds of the ongoing storm.TheDunmer say that a dead god laid dreaming there now; Dragon Ur or something like that. I myself didn’t hold much stock in Dunmer beliefs, their Tribunal gods or their subversive Daedra worship; I much preferred my gods to be of a somewhat more ethereal nature and intangible. The idea of a living God gave me a migraine and made my knees hurt.

As we neared the town gate I glimpsed the grayish-brown lumps of hardened mud that passed for homes and buildings. “Stone Forest” was the translation for Balmora and I could see why it was called as such. You know what animals do in the forest I thought but kept to myself. I was in a hurry to get this done and over with. While Inquisitor was my punishment I found no joy in subjecting myself to being cold and wet.

We neared the gate and I spotted a curious Argonian fellow standing by the Silt Strider stairs. His scales were an incandescent mix of green, gold and red; his face was a blunt snout with two fan like ears resting above a pair of large green eyes. He was dressed much like a House Hlallu retainer, complete with the Hlallu insignia sewn on his houppelande. He was adorned in tight plaid hose and curl-toed shoes; his houppelande was complete with trailing dagged sleeves and an ebony-linked belt. In other words, a fop. I hated him already.

I stepped down from the Stilt-Strider cradle and nodded to my Dunmer conveyor, who made a rude gesture and whispered N’wah under his breath. Gathering my things, two bags which contained my personal items and my tools respectively, I made my way down the stairs. The Argonian grinned at me (you do not want an Argonian to grin at you readers) and he stepped into my path.

“Excuse me.” I said gently and stepped to the right. He moved again to block my path and extended a hand in greeting.

“Inquisitor Varro?” He said in his raspy scale-tongue. I grimaced and shook his hand. I had expected to be greeted as I had sent word ahead of my arrival but I was not expecting what was before me. As he grabbed my hand I saw a glint of metal around his wrist; the metal shimmered and glowed ever so slightly in the dim light of a storm-clouded day.

“Slave?” I thought.

I am no fan of slavery but Morrowind had been given special disposition to keep with cultural tradition of owning and selling sentient beings. I may not approve but my approval does not move the will of nations. At any rate, his grip was firm and his handshake hearty; he was far from the gaunt and fearful slaves I had once witnessed boarding a slave ship heading towards Telvanni territory. On the contrary he appeared well-fed and well taken care of.

“Deerkethus.” He said flatly.

I must’ve looked confused because he said again, “Deerkethus,” before adding, “Deerkethus is my name sera.”

“Well met Argonian,” I said. I’m not a fan of Argonians, having caught a rather nasty bug in my nether regions from an Argonian courtier while stationed in Black Marsh.

“I’m supposed to meet the local constable. An honorable Falvis Halon? Are you to take me to him?”

I made to move again but his grip remained tight and he pulled a sealed envelope from his pocket. I took it and was surprised when he made a very prominent bow while still holding my hand, nearly head-butting me in the process before letting go.

“I regret to inform you that my master cannot attend to this matter as he has a prior arrangement.”

“Well that’s rather inconvenient.” I said annoyed, “Considering this is his job. I wonder what he could be doing instead?”

“Business.” The Argonian said with a hint of malice. “He is out on business.”

“Indeed.” I answered flippantly and picked at the wax seal of the envelope. As I did so Deerkethus continued.

“Rest assured that my master considers this to be a grave matter and wishes to provide the Empire with all the answers they desire. While he is gone, I am at your service. I am certain that I will be of great use to you.”

“I need a Constable, not a slave good sir. I’ll send word to your master that he should return immediately.”

“That is quite impossible.” He answered, “As I don’t know where my master is. But, I am proud to tell you that I am well trained in all constabulary policies and actions, and that I have been deemed to be your partner on this investigation.”

“What!?” I bellowed a little too loud, attracting the attention of some nearby passersby’s. In a more hushed tone I continued.“Don’t you find it a little curious that a murder of this caliber happened and suddenly the town constable just leaves? Tell me Argonian, what sort of business is your master attending?”

“I don’t question my master sera,” He continued with a smile, “After all, I am a slave.”

Well this turned awkward.

I grunted an answer, it was all I could do, and read the missive. Sure as he had said, it was signed by Falvis Halon and stamped withhis seal. It read…

Inquisitor Varro, With my most humble apologies I must inform you that a prior arrangement has precluded my involvement in the Empire’s investigation concerning this matter. Please accept my apologies and rest assured that my manservant Deerkethus has my full confidence. While I am away he is to be considered to be my proxy in all manners concerning the investigation. I will return in a few days’ time at which point I will assume my position by your side and hopefully conclude this awful matter. Respectfully, Falvis Halon

I crumpled up the paper and threw it into the river. I sighed and looked at my new companion. From the start I knew this assignment was going to be a pain in my ass.

“What do you need, Inquisitor?” Deerkethus said smugly.

“No way will he ever make a good constable.” I thought poorly of the foppish bastard.

“Alright then Argonian.” I said. “Take me to the crime scene and bring in the first witness. Let’s get this over with.”

“First witness?” He said, and this time with the first hint of unsureness.

“Yes,” I said and raised an eyebrow, “The report I received said the victim was found by an Argonian like you. It was a…Sweet-Lake?”

“Sweet-Water.” He corrected me. “You can’t speak to him either sera.”

“Just why in Oblivion can’t I?” This time I did mean to raise my voice, and damn the odd stares I got.

“Because sera…he’s dead.”